Why do people leave their countries and come to the United States?

There are many reasons.

Some cannot feed their families. Some are searching for opportunities they cannot find at home. Others are fleeing violence, threats, or situations that have made staying in their own country feel impossible.

People don’t leave their hometowns, families, language, culture, and everything familiar to them just for fun.

I know people who have lived in the United States for many years and haven’t seen their families in all that time. They have missed birthdays, weddings, funerals, and years with the people they love.

Can you imagine having an elderly mother or father in another country and knowing you cannot simply go visit because you may not be able to come back?

Imagine watching your parents grow older through photographs and phone calls.

Not every undocumented immigrant is a bad person.

There are hardworking people who get up every morning, go to work, provide for their families, raise their children, and simply try to build a better life.

Do we really believe people risk dangerous journeys—and sometimes their children’s lives—just for fun?

For many, desperation is stronger than fear.

This subject is personal to me because I was once an undocumented child in the United States.

I didn’t make that decision.

I was a child.

My mother wanted a better life for us, and I came with her. Fortunately, our story eventually led to becoming permanent residents and later U.S. citizens.

I know how fortunate we were.

Many others have not had the same opportunity.

Today, I think about undocumented parents who leave their homes wondering whether they will make it back to their children.

I understand that countries have laws. I understand that immigration is complicated, and I believe people who commit serious crimes should be held accountable.

But I also believe there has to be room for humanity.

And there is another fear that is difficult for me to admit.

I am a U.S. citizen, yet sometimes I fear being caught in the middle.

I am Hispanic.

Someone looking at me on the street doesn’t know my immigration status. They don’t know that I came here as an undocumented child, became a permanent resident, and eventually became a U.S. citizen.

They may simply see a Hispanic woman.

And yes, sometimes that scares me.

Maybe someone who has never had to think about being mistaken for an undocumented immigrant will have difficulty understanding that fear.

But perhaps that is also why this affects me so deeply.

When I see immigrant families afraid of being separated, I don’t just see another story on the news.

I think about parents.

I think about children.

And sometimes, I see the little girl I once was.

I struggle when a human being is reduced to one word: illegal.

Because I was once that undocumented child.

I wasn’t dangerous. I wasn’t coming here to hurt anyone.

I was a little girl whose mother wanted something better for her children.

Had my circumstances been different, my story could look very different today.

We can debate immigration laws.

We can debate borders.

We can debate what immigration policy should look like.

But before judging someone for coming here, maybe we should ask what they were running from.

Maybe we should ask what they left behind.

And maybe we should ask ourselves one difficult question:

What would I do if it were my child?

I don’t have all the answers to immigration.

I only know my story.

And my story reminds me that behind every immigration statistic is a human being. Behind that human being is a family. And behind that family is a story we may know nothing about.

Laws can be debated. Policies can change. But humanity should never depend on someone’s immigration status.